saga/title/fandom:The Private and Personal Journal of William Joslyn Johns

author:BlueEyedDevil

rating/genre:(PG-13) - Gen/Het

warnings: Dubious Content, Adult Humor

summary: The title says it all.

comments/disclaimers: Pitch Black et al are not mine. The idea comes from repetitive readings of the genius that are The Very Secret Diaries by Cassandra Claire, based on Lord of the Rings. I do not apologise for my sorry attempts at humour, but feel free to lynch at will.

Day One

Solo career not going that well. Been unable to score recording contract so still having to stick with being a merc till things pick up. Considered reforming the band, but it could prove difficult as two members are dead and three others are in the slam.

Must really learn to better handle impulse control problem.

Day Three

Found out some interesting news today. The Yoko Ono to my Beatles has escaped from slam. The only inconsistency with the analogy is that Yoko didn’t try to stab Paul to death with his own guitar, but I wouldn’t have put it past her. I still weep for my baby.

The guitar that is, not Riddick.

Wait, I’m confused…

Day Four

Took contract to track down Riddick. Chance now to raise more capital for recording deal and, more importantly, to kill-maim execute justice for musical desecration. Such a vicious murderer should really be sentenced to death but life imprisonment good enough, I suppose. Good news is it’s inspired a new song.

Dancing in the sky

Like bright fireflies

Days going by

Summers barely last

Rain falling fast

Nights sailing past

Trapped in hell

In a four by four cell

Til your death knell, you evil $%&*$%#@&*£$£ £$*$%#%...

Day Ten

Found him! Wasn’t too hard. You can take the man out of the slam, but you can't take the appalling chat up lines out of the man desperate to get laid. Wore outfit from early glam-rock band days and he didn’t seem to recognise me. Shall be making my move soon.

Later…

Two double whiskies and a vodka chaser still hasn’t rid my mouth of the taste.

May have overdone it with the billy-club, but Riddick deserved it. That man has a persistent tongue.

Day Eleven

I really can't believe him sometimes! After all he’s done, to turn around and offer to carve me a new guitar as a trade for him going free… that goes beyond the ridiculous and straight into the flat-out, er, ridiculous!

Tried to make my point by explaining to him the history of my beloved Strat but it really is wasted on such a musical ingrate. He wouldn’t know his Who from his Zeppelin.

The whole interaction has sapped my creativity and left me incapable of writing more lyrics.

What would Jim Morrison do in a situation such as this?

Later...

Aaaahhhh… S’always the bessst actionionion to take… Jim’s da mannn….

Day Twelve

Am taking Riddick back to slam, aboard the Hunter-Gratzner. On way to the ship, he tried to escape again. During resulting scuffle my plectrum came off the chain around my neck and he swallowed it despite wearing bit.

Managed to resist impulse to cut him open there and then to retrieve it and comforted myself with the knowledge that neither Riddick, nor his bowels, were going anywhere fast. Will have to let nature take its course.

Very proud of myself for the self-restraint exercised. Still, it has left me feeling very stressed which is not a good thing to be when facing a long cryo-sleep.

Over to Jim again for this one…

Day 162

I truly believe Riddick has made it his mission in life to completely ruin my musical ambitions. Not content with destroying my band, my guitar and stealing my plectrum, he tries to crush my throat and permanently damage my vocal cords! Don’t even get me started on how he crashed the ship to achieve this.

Didn’t have shotgun to hand to blow hole in stomach once and for all, so had to make do with billy-club beating again.

Checked out remaining passengers for thoughts on possible band recruitment. Pilot Fry is very good looking, if a little wired. I wonder if she can sing. Try to broach subject to her but she seems obsessed with pants and farmyard animals.

There’s something almost poetic about a kilometre long debris trail. Surely there’s a song in it somewhere but my inspiration has been stunted by absence of plectrum.

Contemplate offering Riddick freedom in exchange for some makeshift stomach surgery, but have a feeling he won’t agree. At this rate, may end up doing surgery on myself to extract last shard of Strat from my spine. Prospect of permanent paralysis all that prevents me from doing so. I really hate that man.

Still… just still…

Spirits elevated by discovery of crate belonging to a guy called Paris, that’s survived the landing.

Found something that vaguely resembles a guitar and got excited at prospect of trying out new song. Tried to ask Paris what it was but can’t understand what he’s saying due to the handkerchief he’s tied round his face. Says he’s got a dust allergy or something. May try and get a sound out of it later.

The guitar-lute-thing that is, not Paris.

Wait, I’m confused…

Riddick’s ambition to wreck my career continues. He’s run off, plectrum and all. Give Zeke gun, with explicit instructions to go for the stomach and not the head. Have a feeling he wasn’t listening by way he kept staring at Shazza.

Almost shot interchangeable Arab kids by mistake. Imam very upset by it. I nearly apologised, but they shouldn’t have been throwing rocks in the first place.

No trace of Riddick but did find abandoned settlement and a skiff. Discuss with Fry what‘s needed to make it workable. Tell her a lead guitarist, bassist and drummer, are a good start. May possibly have misunderstood the question.

Day 163 or 162 or even 164

Riddick may have been recaptured but it looks like plectrum is lost forever so all a bit redundant really. May have overdone it with billy-club, wait, no. That was Shazza.

Decide to try and rally spirits with a go on that mandolin thing but everyone wants to go caving instead. Really don’t know why- seen one hole, seen ‘em all. Fry seemed to find that amusing. I question her sense of humour.

Zeke appears to have been killed by CGI from the set of Aliens. Everyone now in mad rush to leave the planet and so vote is taken to see whether Riddick should be used as workhorse. Both women and boy called Jack vote in favour of him, only Paris and myself vote against. Imam was chasing after youngest Arab boy after disagreement over toy robot, and other two Arab boys abstained.

Riddick picks a bad time to tell me he lied earlier and I narrowly avoid shooting him in the head. Tell him to remember this moment cause if he doesn’t produce the goods, I’ll be aiming lower next time.

Was humming 'Behind Blue Eyes' during jaunt back to skiff when Shazza commented how much she liked Limp Bizkit. Managed to control impulse to garrot her with Paris' hankie. Anger management techniques appear to be working.

Have an idea that maybe the settlers left a guitar behind but am prevented from going off to search by abduction of Arab boy by CGI from the set of The Birds.

Try to assure everyone that these things don’t seem to like the light, so if the worse comes to the worse, we can build a campfire to sit around. Get excited at prospect of song practice session until Jack says that’ll definitely scare them off. I hope he was referring to the fire.

Fry over-eager to get rest of power cells back from crash site. Have a feeling this is just a big scam to get Riddick alone with her. Have warned her that his ass is mine. She may have misunderstood that statement.

Now almost positive that Jack is the evil spawn of Riddick incarnate. Had to call on the power of the Morrison to prevent me from decapitating him with animal vertebrae. Not that Jim would've minded, considering the circumstances. I really cannot bring myself to repeat it.

Fry definitely not a good prospect for future band member. She doesn't approve of my musical influences, or at least that what I assume she's complaining about. It sounds like white noise after a while. Decide enough is enough and launch into rousing exposition on the perfection of The Doors, The Stones, and all other bands beginning with 'The'. Finish by allowing her to feel the Strat remnant in my back, but she is not impressed.